Let's Fly, Let's Fly Away
by nicalyse
Summary: She doesn't do things like this, bring men she meets on flights back to her hotel for the express purpose of sleeping with them. Santana-as-a-flight-attendant AU. One-shot.


It sounds stupid, but being a flight attendant is Santana's dream job.

Her great aunt Ilia had been a stewardess back in the heyday of flight, when it looked like _Pan Am_ and being a stewardess was a glamorous, even prestigious job for a woman to have. Santana grew up hearing stories about meeting celebrities and having adventures on long layovers in places like New York and Barcelona and Las Vegas. Aunt Ilia had had the kind of life that Santana always wanted for herself, full of excitement and drama. "My life was never boring when I was a stewardess," she told Santana once. From then on, Santana knew what she wanted to be.

Growing up, Santana would line up stuffed animals in rows on the dining room chairs and walk up and down the aisle she had created, serving them honey-roasted peanuts and ginger ale for upset stomachs, and every time she flew somewhere with her parents, she pestered the flight attendants with questions about the places they had been and what their favorite parts of flying were and whatever else popped into her head.

Santana always stepped off the plane with a pair of those little wings they give to kids. She pinned each little pair on a ribbon ribbon attached to the corner of her dresser mirror.

Her parents weren't surprised when she used her communications degree to get a job as a flight attendant, though she think her dad was a little disappointed that she hadn't gone on to business school. But it's not like she's going to be doing this forever; she loves her job, really, but she has plans to make a career here and move up in the company.

Right now, she's pretty happy with what she's doing. Sure, it isn't the glamorous job that it was for her Aunt Ilia, and there are some massive headaches that go along with it, but the perks outweigh any of the drawbacks. And, most importantly, Santana just likes her job.

She especially likes it when she gets scheduled on flights like this one from Philadelphia to Las Vegas, complete with a thirty-one hour layover before she heads back home. She, Matt, and Sugar did a flight to Seattle and back this morning, so she's exhausted, but it's worth it. She figures she'll crash for a few hours when they get to Vegas just before midnight, then make the most of her time in the city before she has to deal with a bunch of hungover assholes on the flight back east. Plus, Matt is her favorite person to work with, and Sugar covered first class on the flights this morning. Santana hasn't wanted to tell anyone to go to hell yet today, so it's been a good one.

She's looking forward to this trip. She hasn't been in Vegas in a while, and the last time she did a flight here, the layover was only three hours That's barely enough time to hit the slots at the airport, so it doesn't count.

"I've never had a layover in Vegas," Sugar comments after the captain has finished his briefing and the three of them are just waiting for the agent to come let them know they're starting to board.

Santana gives her a look. "If you show up hungover for the flight back, I will make your life hell." She has no intention of covering someone else's ass because they can't control themselves, and she wants to be sure that Sugar knows that up front.

Sugar blinks and nods. "Okay."

Santana exchanges a glance with Matt, who just shakes his head, but the agent appears in the doorway before she can say anything else.

There's only one thing that Santana hates about her job: boarding.

First and foremost, she doesn't start getting paid until that door is shut. So, yeah. She'd like it if people would get their shit together and hurry the fuck up. It doesn't matter how friendly and professional you are, there are always people who are just snotty pricks who are going to bitch about everything. Santana has to bite her tongue at least once during every single boarding when she overhears someone bitching about the size of the seats, because if she said what she wanted to say - _Maybe your ass would fit in the seat more comfortably if you got off it once in a while_ - she'd get fired.

Anyhow.

She's volunteered to work first class on this flight because even though it's more work, she's tired enough that she feels like she needs to keep busy if she has any hope of not killing anyone. She and Matt stand there and greet everyone, and with about five minutes left before take off, there's only one person sitting in first class. Santana knows better than to hope that that's it; she had a flight that started like this once before, and then a loud, demanding wedding party showed up and had her running her ass off from Buffalo all the way to St. Louis.

"You got this?" Matt finally asks. He's sort of looking past Santana's shoulder, where she can hear Sugar explaining to a passenger that he will, in fact, have to turn off his iPhone for take off.

Santana nods, glancing at her watch. "It's just a couple minutes." She watches him go to rescue Sugar from the Alec Baldwin-wannabe jackass, folding her hands in front of her to keep from crossing her arms against the brisk air coming through the door.

She's tapping her toe in her shoe when another passenger appears, a tall guy with dark hair and scruff on his jaw, that almost messy look that some guys work really hard to achieve and others just naturally have. He grins when he sees her standing there, and even if the expression borders on goofy, he's definitely hot. He's wearing dark jeans and a black tee shirt, and his fingers are curved around the strap of the bag over his shoulder. Santana has an immediate, unbidden mental image of curving her hand around his jaw and sliding it up until her fingers are in his hair, of leaning up on her toes to kiss him when he presses his hand against the small of her back.

"Hi," she greets simply, smiling her 'charming flight attendant' smile. "Cutting it a little close, aren't you?"

He smiles back at her, and it goes all the way to his eyes. "Sorry. It's been a long day," he explains, genuinely apologetic.

"I'm just kidding," she almost laughs. She catches sight of the agent coming up behind him. "If you'll take your seat, I think we'll be taking off soon," she says, making it sound like a suggestion instead of the directive that it is. She's learned over the years that the tone she uses is just as important as the words themselves. It's something she only uses for work, though she has been known to pull out her work voice when dealing with the assholes in customer service at her cable company.

He nods, and she smiles to herself when she sees him move up toward first class.

Maybe this flight could turn out to be interesting after all.

The only other person sitting in first class is a woman who Santana takes to be in her mid-fifties. She declined a drink when she first boarded, and she's been reading an enormous Doris Kearns Goodwin hardcover since she took her seat.

"I'm fine, thank you," she answers when Santana asks if she'd like a drink after she's introduced herself after the seat belt light has gone off. "And I don't like flight attendants who hover. If I require anything else, I'll let you know. You don't need to check on me every fifteen minutes."

She doesn't seem like the kind of woman who takes any bullshit, and Santana appreciates that. "All right then."

She heads back toward the galley, pausing in the aisle when she gets to where the hot guy with the scruff is sitting. He's just gazing out the window with his hands sitting atop his thighs. "Can I get you anything?" she asks gently, trying to avoid startling him.

He flinches a little, turning to look up at her. "A Coke, please."

Even the deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face is hot. "I'll be right back."

She can hear Sugar's voice coming from back in coach when she's in the galley pouring her passenger's Coke, her voice going thin and high the way it does when she's frustrated. Santana just watches the Coke foam in the glass she poured it into, unperturbed by what she hears. It's probably the guy with the phone from earlier, and that's all Sugar's problem now. Santana's dealt with enough of those assholes to just be grateful for her own good fortune with her draw in first class this leg. A woman who wants to be left alone and a stupidly attractive guy?

She doesn't feel bad at all about ignoring Sugar's struggle when she carries the Coke out of the galley.

"Here you go," she says, handing her passenger the glass. He blinks at her once, like he's surprised, then takes it. "Is this your first time in first class?" she asks, making sure that her tone lets him know that she isn't teasing him.

He smiles sheepishly. "The girl at the ticket counter gave me an upgrade when I told her that I just needed a weekend away."

This is the part of the conversation when Santana would normally take her out, but she doesn't have anything better to do, and this guy is hot enough for her to want to talk to him some more. "Any particular reason?"

He takes a sip of his drink, and she notices his fingers wrapped around the glass, the way that his hand practically dwarfs the thing. Her mind wanders again, considering the way those hands would feel on her body, gripping her hips, spanning her back, sliding up her thighs. "It's been a long couple of weeks. Work and stuff. Months, actually," he corrects himself. "And my brother just announced his engagement. It was kind of the last straw."

She tells herself to focus on the words that are coming out of his mouth instead of just thinking of other things he could do with it. "Is he marrying your ex or something?"

"Uh, no," he answers with a snort. "My brother is gay."

"Oh." That doesn't explain much, which he seems to realize.

"It's kind of a long story. And we're like, strangers," he adds almost apologetically.

Santana glances up toward the front of the cabin, where the no-bullshit lady is still reading her book, seemingly oblivious to what's going on around her. Santana slips into the seat beside the guy, crossing her legs at the ankle and angling her body toward his. "We have time." She holds out her hand. "I'm Santana."

That goofy grin is back on his lips when he shakes her hand. "I'm Finn."

"Now we aren't strangers." She pushes her hair back over her shoulder. "So, why is your gay brother's engagement the tipping point that sends you to Vegas for a weekend?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "It's not just that." She lifts an eyebrow pointedly; she thinks he's trying to downplay this thing, but why would he bring it up if it wasn't bothering him? He rolls his eyes. "I was supposed to get married first. Hell, I was supposed to be married now. I was engaged," he explains when he sees the look on her face. "She broke it off."

"That sucks." If she's going to sit here and have a conversation with him, she's going to drop some of the polite flight attendant shit and be herself, and being dumped always sucks.

"We'd been together since high school, and it kind of came out of nowhere. We were supposed to get married on New Year's Eve."

"She broke it off after you'd started planning the wedding?" He nods, and Santana just stops herself from saying _what a bitch_. "That's harsh."

"I'm over it, really. It sucked, but she was right. We would have ended up divorced and hating each other if we'd gotten married, but this way I just resent her a little bit."

He smiles when she bursts out laughing. "So what?" she asks when she's caught her breath. "A hooker in Vegas to take your mind off things?"

"What? No!" She can't help laughing at how offended he sounds. "I figured I'd sit at a slot machine or something and get drunk while I lose my money."

"You have better odds at a blackjack table."

"I'll keep that in mind."

She keeps talking to him because her other option is to go sit in another seat and read something on her Kindle. Talking with Finn is more interesting than anything she's reading, and frankly, she'd probably still be sitting here even if it wasn't. She can't explain what it is exactly that makes him so fucking hot, but she's ridiculously attracted to him.

The more he talks, the more true that becomes.

She learns that he's from Ohio, and he went to college in New York because that's where his fiancée wanted to be. His brother, Kurt, is actually his step-brother, and he was responsible for setting up their parents back in high school because he had a crush on Finn. (Santana thinks that's more than a little weird as a family dynamic, but he assures her that it stopped being weird about six months after their parents started dating, so whatever.) He lives in Philadelphia now, just like she does, though he's been there for less than a year and it's where she went to college. They talk about the city for a while, discussing the things they love about living there, though they share a hatred for the Eagles.

"Why do you hate them?" he asks her.

"I don't have a good reason," she admits after thinking about it for a moment. "My dad always hated them, so I guess that's probably why."

"I've never forgiven them for signing Michael Vick. I have a dog, and the idea of someone like..." He trails off, shaking his head. "I just hate that guy, and they suck for letting him play again."

Santana remembers, vaguely, hearing about the guy being convicted on animal abuse charges or something. She's not much of a pet person (they're cute and whatever, but she doesn't have any desire to have a four-legged creature begging her for food and attention), but the idea of someone hurting an animal makes her physically sick. Finn's logic makes perfect sense to her.

"What kind of dog do you have?"

He grins at her, the one that she already thinks is stupidly endearing. "He's a mutt that I got at a shelter after I moved to Philly. He's some kind of terrier mixed with who knows what, but he's totally my buddy." She smiles at the affection in his voice. "I always wanted a dog growing up, but my mom said that she'd end up taking care of it if she let me get one, which is probably true. I never thought it was right to have a dog in an apartment in New York. My place now is right next to a park though, and I was kind of lonely when I first moved, so I went for it. Now I have William Wallace."

She bites her lip to keep from commenting when she hears the name.

He declines when she offers to get him another Coke, she thinks because he doesn't want her to get up and go do something else. She does though, because however much she'd rather sit and talk to him, she's on this flight to work. She's only gone for a few minutes, to return his glass to the galley and to check discreetly on the lady sitting up front, and then she's slipping back into the seat beside him and trying not to smile too widely at the expression on his face.

"So," she says, crossing her legs and smoothing her skirt over her thighs. "Why Vegas?"

"Why not Vegas?" he answers with a shrug. "Where else is a guy supposed to go for the weekend to cheer himself up?"

Santana can think of a few places, but she keeps them to herself.

"Can I tell you something?" he asks suddenly. She nods, and it's like he almost loses his nerve. "I think you're really beautiful. I just want you to know before you get up and leave again and don't come back."

Normally, she'd think this was a line, just something that he's saying to get in her good graces for whatever reason. Finn is either entirely sincere or the best liar she's ever met, because she believes him. She looks him in the eye when she says, "Thank you."

He shakes his head just slightly. "You don't need to thank me for being honest."

Jesus, this guy. (She takes a quick second to thank whatever deity is responsible for him winding up sitting here next to her on this flight.)

"What do you do, Finn? What's your job?"

"I'm a teacher," he answers. "I work at a school for kids with behavioral problems."

"That sounds...intense."

He grins wryly. "There are times when I want to pull my hair out."

"And the rest of the time?"

"The rest of the time...I know I'm doing something that makes a real difference," he says, his eyes softening. She knows that the light on planes lies, but the color of his eyes reminds her of the raw honey that her grandmother always kept in the cabinet for her tea.

"I've never understood the appeal of being a teacher," she tells him honestly, "but I guess that's kind of it."

"I never thought I'd end up doing this. I was a pretty crappy student, and I didn't start taking my future seriously until people started thinking about college and the girl I was with was like, crazy motivated." He shrugs his shoulders and grins. "It just kind of happened, but that's how I knew it was what I was supposed to be doing. That's how things go in my life."

"Is that so?" she asks, smiling when he nods. "Would meeting me fall into the 'it just kind of happened' category?" She keeps her eyes on his when he takes a breath. "Randomly choosing a flight to Vegas that just happens to be booked light, getting an upgrade. Were we supposed to meet, Finn?"

He swallows. "Yeah. I think we were."

* * *

Santana has never been more grateful to her airline for not booking adjacent rooms for flight staff than she is when Finn curves his hand around her hip while she's slipping her keycard into the door. He barely touched her in the taxi on the way to the hotel, but between the gentle slide of his thumb on the inside of her wrist and the _anticipation_, she's so worked up that it's ridiculous. She likes her coworkers well enough, but she doesn't need them to know what she sounds like when she gets off, and if tonight goes at all the way she's thinking it will, she isn't going to be able to keep quiet.

She catches his hand and pulls him with her when she pushes the door open, not bothering with the light switch when she sees the light that's coming through the open drapes.

They don't need to be able to see much for what they're going to be doing.

"Santana."

She turns to see Finn setting his bag down beside hers - which he insisted on carrying for her - watching her with eyes that she can see are dark even in the dim room. There's something about those eyes and the way that he's looking at her that makes her think that he knows what he's doing when he's with a woman. Just thinking about it sends a little thrill through her.

She doesn't do things like this, bring men she meets on flights back to her hotel for the express purpose of fucking them. She's had her fair share of one-night stands, but this is a first for her. She makes a serious, concerted effort to be professional, and this is the opposite of that. That in itself is a little thrilling, like she's breaking her own last taboo.

She cannot find it in herself to care even a tiny bit about professionalism when Finn steps close to her, puts his hands on her hips, and tugs her forward so he can kiss her.

The gentle brush of his lips against hers isn't what she's expecting. They've had like, two hours of foreplay (at least that's what it feels like), and he's kissing her like he's not sure how she's going to react to it. She wants to know if she's reading him right, so she lets him take the lead, sinking into it when he deepens the kiss slowly. His lips are soft, moving surely against hers, his hand low on her back holding her steady when she rises up onto her toes to kiss him harder. She curves her hand around his jaw exactly the way that she imagined, and the scruff of his beard growing in scratchy against her skin. He makes a noise in the back of his throat when she plays the pads of her fingers over his ear before slipping her fingers into the hair just above it, pulling her even closer so that they're pressed together.

She's a little confused when he stops kissing her, leaning his head back so he can look down at her even though his arms are still tight around her. "Are you sure about this?"

Santana's a little breathless when she laughs. "I wouldn't have brought you back here if I wasn't sure," she answers, nipping at the underside of his jaw and letting her fingernails bite into his bicep a little.

He kisses her again, harder this time, his hand coming up to curve around the side of her neck. She almost shivers at the feel of it. His palm is hot against her skin, his thumb brushing over her earlobe. God, she wants him to touch her everywhere, to slide those hands over her skin until she's begging him to touch her for real.

"I don't even know your last name," he mumbles against her lips, pulling back when she makes a noncommittal noise and traces her tongue along the seam of his lips. "Seriously. You don't know my last name either."

She pushes her hand into the back of his hair, tugging just a little, just because she likes the way that it feels. He does too, if the way his eyelids flutter just a little is any indication. "Santana Lopez," she says softly, like she's introducing herself to him again. She presses her hips forward against his, and she swears she can feel his cock twitch. She gives his arm a pointed squeeze when he doesn't say anything, his eyes on her lips.

"Finn Hudson," he says, already leaning down to kiss her again, whatever qualms he had about this seeming to evaporate. Santana doesn't mind, especially not when he moves his tongue alongside hers.

Finn Hudson is an excellent kisser.

He cradles her face in his hands, tipping her head back to get a better angle, his thumb moving across her cheek at the same time that he strokes his tongue against the roof of her mouth. She moans into the kiss, clutching at his shoulders and vaguely noting that he's moving her back toward the bed. He slips his arm around her waist when the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress, laying her down gently and moving her up so she's against the pillows and he's half on top of her.

He pushes himself up on his hands and looks down at her, brushing her hair back out of her face and not saying anything. Santana's used to people watching her; she knows she's hot, and there are a lot of people who sit and stare at their flight attendants. This isn't like that though. "What?" she asks after a long moment, her voice quieter than she means for it to be.

Finn just shakes his head, leaning down to sip at her lips, his hand skimming up the side of her thigh, rucking up the fabric of her dress and prompting her to shift her hips. She curls her fingers into the front of his tee shirt, arching up against him when he draws her tongue into his mouth.

Even though they're on the bed now - and he put them there - she thinks he's still got nerves or whatever about what they're doing. It's just that he seems perfectly content to keep kissing her and nothing else, even when she tries to make it dirtier. He's got his hand on her thigh under her dress, but other than his thumb stroking slowly back and forth over the skin, he's not making any moves toward advancing this thing. And yeah, kissing him is really, really good, but she didn't bring this guy back to her hotel room in Vegas to ikiss/i him.

She puts her hands on his chest and pushes hard, following his body until he's on his back and she's straddling his hips. He blinks up at her when she starts undoing the buttons at the front of her dress. "You were taking too fucking long," she says by way of explanation.

He grins and smooth his hands up her thighs, watching the skin that's being exposed as she works the buttons. "Yeah?" Santana lets out a hum when his fingertips brush against the lace of her panties at the tops of her thighs. That's certainly closer to where she wants him, even if it's not quite there. "Sorry."

She shakes her head as she undoes the final button, fully revealing the raspberry-colored lace of the panties that match her bra. She leans down, letting the lace covering her tits brush against his chest when she puts her lips against his ear. "I don't want you to apologize." She grazes her teeth over his earlobe, pushing at the sides of his shirt with her hands. "I want you to do something about it."

She feels his groan more than she hears it, his body pushing hers upright when he sits up, grasping the back of his tee shirt and pulling it over his head. He kisses her when he drops it off the side of the bed, nipping at her bottom lip with his teeth and sliding his hand over the bare skin of her stomach. "You're so damn sexy, Santana," Finn mumbles against her lips, pulling her dress off her arms and dropping it with his shirt. "So pretty."

That's more like it. (Even if she can't remember ever being called pretty during a fucking one-night stand.)

He pushes her onto her back again, fitting himself between her thighs this time and going to work on mapping her skin with his hands while he kisses the breath from her lungs. She ignores the way that his belt buckle digs into her lower stomach, focusing instead on his half-hard length against her center and the way he looks at her when he finally unclasps her bra and pulls it from her body.

"Fuck," she gasps when he laves at her nipple, sucking it into his mouth and scraping his teeth over it gently. She pushes herself against his mouth, grasping at his hair in an effort to keep him close, drawing in a shaky breath when he kisses across the valley of her breasts and gives her other breast the same treatment. Distracted as she is by what his mouth is doing, she notices when he slips the tip of his index finger beneath the lace of her panties at her thigh, sliding it back and forth over her skin, making her let out an involuntary little whimper. She's wet, and she wants him, and she can't stand this teasing. "Finn, touch me."

He looks up at her with hooded eyes, flicking his tongue against her nipple. "I want to taste you."

"Fuck," she breathes, and she swears she can feel herself get wetter when he hooks his thumbs into the sides of her panties. "Yes."

He takes his time, peeling her panties off and then sliding his hands over her skin, lingering when he finds the sensitive spot on the back of her left knee. He kisses a path up the inside of her thigh, starting at that spot and stopping just before he gets to exactly where she wants him. He waits until she meets his eyes, then asks, "You're sure."

"Oh, my god," she mutters, letting her fingernails dig into his shoulders. (He doesn't seem to mind.) "_Yes_," she insists. "Yes, I'm sure. I'm also sure I want to fuck you, so you don't have to ask again."

She's right on the verge of being downright mean to him, but he just smirks at her, the expression in his eyes filthy when he bites at the crease of her thigh. "Just checking," he says nonchalantly, leaning in to flick his tongue against her clit so her retort gets caught up in in the noise she makes.

And _god_, if she'd known he was going to be this good at this, she would have been even more impatient for it from the beginning. She was worked up when he started, for sure, and she's a pretty easy girl to get off, but it feels like he's barely touched her, and she's right on the edge. Her hips jerk when he slips a finger inside of her, sliding slowly while he presses the flat of his tongue against her clit. He drops his forearm over her hips, stilling them, and thrums his tongue, his free hand coming up to pluck at her nipple.

She finds herself holding on to the arm that he has over her hips - she needs to hold on to something - and clutching at the bedspread. "Don't stop," she whines. His eyes dart up and meet hers, and she forces herself to hold in a whimper. "Finn."

He hums against her, the vibration shooting through her entire body, then sucks hard at her clit, and she's gone. Her thighs twitch, clamping down on the sides of his head, holding him in place while she rides it out. He keeps lapping at her slowly until she relaxes, the tension in her body melting away, and then he nips gently at the inside of her thigh, his eyes on hers. "Good?" he asks.

Laughing breathlessly, she answers, "So good."

He moves up her body, hesitating a little until she grabs the back of his head and pulls him down to kiss her. There are girls who don't want to kiss a guy after he's gone down on her, but Santana isn't one of those girls. It's sexy, tasting herself on his lips, his tongue, and maybe she's being greedy or whatever, but it just makes her want him more.

He goes with it when she pushes him onto his back again, pulling her down for a kiss when she kneels beside him and starts unbuckling his belt, deliberately brushing her hand against his cock through his jeans. "You are very-" she kisses him again, popping open the button on his jeans, "very-" she slides down the zipper carefully, "good at that."

"Santana." He grabs her wrist before she can slip her hand inside the front of his jeans, pulling away from her completely so he can stand beside the bed. She moves so she's sitting at the edge of the mattress, watching him pull his wallet from his back pocket and drop it on the nightstand before pushing his jeans and boxers down off his hips. She wraps her hand around his cock before he can do or say anything else, her eyes on his face when he mumbles a curse and closes his eyes.

He's big, which she already knew from being pressed up against him, but she likes the way that he feels in her hand, the weight of him and the softness of his skin. His eyes shoot open when she circles her tongue around the head of his dick, and he watches intently when she takes him into her mouth, his hand coming up to sink into the back of her hair when she takes more of him.

She isn't just returning the favor, though if she was the sort of girl who thought that giving head was only something to do as a reward, the orgasm he just gave her definitely would have earned him a blow job. It sounds slutty, but she likes the way it feels to go down on a guy, to have him at her mercy the way that she so obviously has Finn right now, his hand pulling at her hair harder than she knows he realizes (she likes that, too) and those noises coming from low in his throat.

Finn's hips jerk forward when she lets her teeth just barely graze his skin. "_Fuck_. Stop." She could be a bitch and ignore him, but she really, really wants to have him inside her sooner rather than later, so she pulls off and licks her lips, blinking up at him. "How are you even real?" he asks, cupping her face and rubbing his thumb back and forth over the apple of her cheek.

Santana shakes her head, smirking; sex makes men stupid, she swears. "I want to fuck you," she tells him, smiling when he laughs. She wraps a hand around his wrist and rises up onto her knees. "Lie down."

He does what she says, watching her reach for his wallet. She wouldn't normally go through someone's wallet without his permission (she doesn't want people in her shit either), but if he's like every other guy she knows, there's a condom inside. Yeah, there are condoms in her bag, but it's all the way across the room, and his wallet is right here on the nightstand.

Bless Finn for being just like every other guy she knows.

The package is between her fingers when she moves to straddle his hips, leaning down so she can kiss him again, pressing her tits against his chest and slipping her tongue past his lips. She finds herself moaning into his mouth when he palms her ass to push her hips lower, sliding one hand up to keep her pressed close, spanning practically her whole back. "Fuck," she mumbles, shifting her hips and arching her neck when he nips at her chin. "Your hands make me crazy."

"Yeah?" She hums when he kisses a line down her throat, pushing herself up on her hands so there's a little space between them. "Your everything makes me crazy."

She snorts out a laugh that dies a little when he bucks his hips up into hers. She sits up to open the condom, staring down at him. "That's pretty weak, Finn," she says seriously, even though the way he's sliding his hands up her thighs makes her want to make a noise.

"You want me to be more specific?"

There's this like, gleam in his eyes that she loves, but she still says, "No," dropping the wrapper off the edge of the bed and reaching between him to smooth the latex over his length. She strokes him a few times, watching the way that his eyelids flutter before lining him up with her entrance. "I kind of don't want you to talk at all," she says, sinking down on him with a noise that might be a whimper.

He feels so fucking good inside her.

"Oh, fuck," he mutters, his hands moving to her hips and squeezing hard while she takes a moment to adjust to him. "Santana."

She puts her hands flat on his chest when she rolls her hips, the feeling that he's almost too much for her to take shifting into that amazing, just right feeling that isn't nearly as easy to come by as she's always thought it should be. Finn lets her take control, not even really trying to guide her motions even though his hands never seem to stop moving. They slide up her thighs and over her back, his fingers tangling in the ends of her hair when she tips her head back, then coming around to pluck at her nipples before he grips her upper arms and pulls her down so he can kiss her.

She pushes her hand into his hair when he curls his tongue around hers, tugging at the it to tip his head back so she can bite at his lower lip, enjoying the way the strands feel when they slip between her fingers. "So good, baby," he mumbles, chasing her lips when she tries to move back. He shifts under her, changing the angle slightly, pressing his hand in the middle of her back to keep her close, though she's still rocking her hips slowly. "Wanna feel you come."

"Finn." She doesn't even know how she's laughing right now, but she is. He sounds so stupid, and he looks so hot, and he sounds so dumb.

It catches her by surprise when he snaps his hips up into hers, driving himself deeper and making her cry out. It pushes her closer to the edge and makes her realize that she was already closer than she thought. She sits upright, leaning back and setting one hand on Finn's thigh. "Touch me," she says, grabbing his hand and guiding it between her legs.

He presses his thumb against her clit without any further prompting, and she feels it everywhere when he starts moving it quickly, his other hand squeezing her hip hard. Her head falls forward and she closes her eyes, her breath coming in shaky little pants while she swivels her hips, catching every time the motion makes him hit her spot. It's so close, that thing she's chasing, like all she needs is just one little thing to push her over the top.

She gets it when Finn bucks his hips at just the right moment, and Santana's entire body tenses with her orgasm, a low sound coming from the back of her throat. He rides it out with her, moving his hips even though hers have stilled and moving his thumb lightly against her nerves.

He's watching her intently when she opens her eyes, and like that's what he was waiting for, he rolls her beneath him, thrusting into her hard while she clutches his shoulders. She can tell that he must have been holding back for her, her suspicions confirmed when his body goes rigid over hers after just a few moments.

He practically collapses on top of her, though he settles his weight in such a way that he isn't crushing her under his body, not unimpressive given how big he is. She presses her lips to the side of his neck, tasting the sweat on his skin while she smooths her hands up and down his back, enjoying the way the muscles flex when he pushes himself up on his hands. He kisses her lips gently, the leans his forehead against hers. "So glad I bought that ticket to Vegas," he mutters.

Finn's entire body shakes when he starts laughing with her, which wouldn't feel nearly so good if he wasn't still inside her.

* * *

In the past, Santana hasn't typically hung out with the people that she's slept with. There are a couple of exceptions, but Santana's really a one-and-done kind of girl. People just expect too much when you try to mix sex and friendship, and she has neither the time nor the patience to deal with someone else's feelings. If it's not about fun, she isn't interested.

It's probably dumb luck that Finn turns out to be a lot of fun to hang out with.

Between working all day and the way Finn wore her out - the way they wore each other out - Santana didn't have time to think about what was going to happen when they woke up together in the morning before she passed out. As it turns out, she didn't need to. He wakes her just before noon, kissing along the back of her shoulder and whispering filthy suggestions in her ear when he realizes that she's listening. They're still in bed for quite a while; she insists that he make good on all those things he's promising to do to her, and he said a lot of things before she stopped him.

Anyhow.

They get to talking over lunch about a whole lot of silly things, and it turns out that he's just as charming and goofy and sexy on the ground as he was up in the air. It's different than anyone else she's ever spent time with; he isn't relying on his looks or trying to impress her with his job or whatever else. He's just really the kind of guy that you just want to spend time with.

They go for a walk down the strip, Finn laughing at all of Santana's snarky comments about the tourists. In her line of work, she sees a lot of them, and while every place certainly has its own tourist flair, there are some constants. She really doesn't get enough opportunities to share her knowledge, and Finn's a great audience, not only listening to what she has to say but egging her on, even when the things she's saying are entirely inappropriate.

Finn tugs her into a casino, reminding her that you have to gamble when you're on the Vegas strip. She isn't inclined to argue, though she does steer him away from the slot machines and the fucking roulette table in favor of some blackjack. If you're going to gamble, you might as well go at something with better odds.

And if you're old enough to gamble, you can count to fucking twenty-one.

"Holy shit," Finn mumbles, leaning back in his chair and glancing sideways at her. "You're like a lucky charm or something."

She's not sure how long they've been sitting here, but Finn has been on a hot streak and easily has four times as many chips in front of him than he started with.

"I think it's all you," she argues. "I've always had rotten luck."

He looks sideways at her. "I don't believe that." She doesn't get a chance to retort because he's waving off the dealer, saying something about stopping while he's ahead and gathering his chips.

He doesn't say anything else about it until they're leaving the casino. The sun has set, not that it's actually dark when they walk outside. "You don't think it was lucky that we met on that flight?" he asks, setting his hand on her upper arm to guide her out of the path of an obviously drunk guy who isn't watching where he's going.

She glances up at him. "I thought you said it just kind of happened."

"Luckily it did," he says, looking at her with this grin on his lips that's somehow adorable and sexy as fuck all at once.

Santana shakes her head, glancing down at her watch. "I have to be back at the airport in ten hours," she tells him, brushing the backs of her fingers over the back of his hand. "I think we should go back to the hotel."

His grin takes on a filthy edge. "Yeah. Okay."


End file.
